


Like a Dog with a Bone

by TheArchaeologist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: Diego expects many things when he gets a knock on the door at half eleven at night. Thugs, meatheads, gangs fed up with him flinging knives in their general direction, the city’s full of dirtbags who’d be more than happy taking him down a peg or two.What Diego doesn’t expect is his youngest-but-oldest brother.
Comments: 74
Kudos: 1064





	Like a Dog with a Bone

To say Diego’s used to getting visitors would be an overstatement to the highest degree.

He lives in a refurbished boiler room. The most he gets in the way of guests is Al, lovesick teens looking for a secret place to get friendly with each other’s tonsils, and the occasional bewildered engineer intending to run maintenance on the pipework. Out of all of them, Al’s the only one purposefully seeking Diego’s company, and that’s usually just to gripe at him about the quality of his work or demand his share of the rent.

This lack of interest in engaging with Diego at his home address extends to his family as well. Since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, there’s been a collective effort, spearheaded by Allison with a very stern-looking Five behind her, at _talking to each other_. Keeping contact has been emphasised to the point of being a joke, and, probably working off the compulsory therapy she’s been forced into, Allison’s corralled them all into weekly ‘Let’s Talk About Our Feelings’ sessions.

It’s weird, uncomfortable, the polar opposite of anything the Hargreeves deem natural, but none of his siblings are quitting on the idea and like shit is Diego going to be the first.

So, he sits there, and nods along to whatever is being said, and tries not to be a Grade A asshole because last time that got people killed.

As part of this communication or else agenda, his, Allison’s, and Vanya’s addresses have all become public knowledge in the family. How that’s going, Diego can’t say, but he does know that he hasn’t visited his sisters once and not a single sibling has come to him. On reflection, that’s probably a good thing, considering his room is pretty small and having even two people in the space can make it feel crowded.

Diego has the delightful memories of awkwardly cleaning his blades and pretending not to notice the engineer working on the pipes to prove it.

They have the Academy to head to anyway, maintained by Mom and his brothers who all have taken up their old rooms again. There’s no need to try and fit seven people into his space, and frankly, Diego prefers the privacy. Klaus is well known for taking a fancy to things that don’t belong to him, and Diego happens to _like_ his stuff, thanks.

All of this is to say that when he receives a knock on his door at half eleven on a Thursday night, Diego’s caught off-guard.

He pauses, hands still raised half-way through dawning his vigilante gear, staring at the door as if he’ll be able to tell who’s on the other side just from willpower alone. The familiar rumble of the boiler hums beside him, the only noise in the room save for the dripping tap.

It can’t be any of his siblings. Klaus makes a point of declaring his presence before he waltzes into any of Diego’s spaces, a habit formed after what they call the Exposed Ass Incident of ‘06, and Five tends to just jump inside anyway, apparently unbothered by the threat of nakedness. Luther knocks louder and Vanya quieter, and Allison’s currently off in L.A. for the week doing who knows what.

Al came by nearly two hours ago to announce he was locking up, and even if he’d returned to get something, he’d yell from the other side to let Diego know it was him.

That incident doesn’t have a name, but it’s probably worthy of one.

Slowly pulling out a blade, Diego pads softly up the steps towards the door, muscles tensing into the well-known striking position that was hammered into him as a child. The knife is clutched tightly in his hand, held up ready to swing and maim.

This can only be bad news, it must be, there’s no one else who’d want to see him now.

Coming back from a ‘night on the town’, as Klaus dubs it, requires a certain amount of skill. The business Diego trades in is messy, volatile, and leaves him wide open for resentment from some of the city’s less pleasant characters. Grudges run deep, and call Reginald Hargreeves what you want (a bastard, an abuser, an egotistical manipulator with a sadistic streak), but he taught Diego well in the art of covering his tracks.

Probably to hide his own hideous actions, in hindsight.

If Diego’s work truly has followed him home, then he’ll be dealing with the big guns. The average thieving idiot only possess enough brain cells for sleeping, eating, and shitting, and the sky would be falling before any of them mustered the intelligence to corner him here.

Beyond the door the sound of multiple nails tapping against the gym floor scatter about, catching and scraping in a way that makes him pause. There’s faint but heavy panting, followed by the unmistakable huffing of a dog fed up of being made to wait for a length of time, a whine working its way into it.

Diego blinks dumbly, then promptly startles out of his skin when the person knocks again.

“You in there or what?” An impatient voice asks, and Diego drops his hand to swing open the door.

“Five?” He asks, then, “What the fuck?”

Glaring up at Diego through the messed hair of his fringe, his youngest-oldest brother stands pathetic in the dim corridor light, one hand curled tightly around the upper part of his left arm and dressed in an Academy uniform. His exposed right knee has some kind of graze to it, though in the poor lighting Diego can’t make out much more than that, and there’s a sharp red scratch just catching his chin.

Dancing around his legs is a dog, a mangled, matted thing that sniffs at Diego with interest, tail wagging.

“Took your time.” Five states, or more accurately, croaks. He visibly swallows. “You going to let me in, or do I have to stand here all night?”

“You look like shit.” Diego’s mouth states before his brain can catch up, making Five snort.

“Gee, thanks.”

The corridor lights are hideous in comparison to the bulb in his room, but there’s a paleness to Five that Diego can’t place, nudging an odd corner of his memory with an irritating determination. Saying nothing, he steps back, watching silently as Five limps into his room, the dog trailing after him happily.

Diego clears his throat.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He asks, keeping his tone deliberately nonchalant. 

Five’s a prickly beast when he wants to be, all sharp edges and disinterested ego, and approaching the problem with the same doting concern Klaus, Allison, Vanya, or even Luther might smother him with is a sure-fire way to make his brother vanish into thin air and leave Diego with a random mutt for the rest of the night.

Ignoring him, his brother pauses at the top of the stairs leading into his room, scanning them critically before taking the railing on his left side. For a split second, Diego’s able to catch a flash of dried crimson coating his fingers before its concealed away in a tight fist around the thin metal.

Shutting the door and sliding the knife back into place, Diego lets his eyes bore into Five as he carefully takes the steps one at a time, his grip vice-lie on the railing as if he’ll slip at any moment. He holds his shoulders stiffly, rigid, locked high against his neck, and with each movement the corners of his eyes crease with a well concealed wince.

At the top of the stairs, the dog stops, panting and tail falling still as it sniffs at the ground. It’s probably picking up at all the random stinks Diego’s brought in over the years, sweat and blood and grime, and the general atmosphere of walking through the gym every day. He can’t imagine he’s stepped in some particularly pleasant things, either.

Whining, the dog starts making odd, yelping noises, barking loudly when it notices Five’s now a good distance away.

Shoulders sagging as he lets out a slow breath, Five turns and stiffly pats the side of his thigh.

“Come on.”

The dog whimpers.

“It’s fine, come on.”

Diego ponders booting the thing. It’d be quicker.

Five, keeping his left hand secure on the handrail, offers out his right, sliding his thumb along the pads of his fingers to try and entice the creature down. There’s blood decorating his palm, fresher and shinier than the other stuff Diego saw, and it smears at Five’s movements.

“Bro-”

“Shut up.” Five snaps at him, then says to the dog, “You’re fine, come on.”

With great trepidation, the dog inches its way down the first step, glancing to Five and then Diego before bucking up the courage to shakily try the second.

Patience gone, Diego marches forward and scoops the dog into his arms, making it yelp as he barges passed Five to dump it at the bottom of the stairs. As he sets it down, the dog whips around to nip his exposed hand.

He jumps back. “Shit! It bit me! What the fuck?”

“You deserve it.” Five informs him icily, also at the bottom of the steps and letting the dog curl against his leg. “You can’t just pick him up like that.”

Shaking out his hand, Diego glares at him, which earns him an eyeroll and the dog a scratch behind the ears.  


“It could have rabies!”

“Probably not.”

“It’s mouth’s filthy!”

“Yet you kiss Mom with yours.”

Diego seethes for a moment, his angered gaze meeting Five’s unmoving one, and with a loud crack of his jaw he spins on his heel and marches towards his kitchen, whacking on the tap with more force than needed. Cold water juts out violently, the pipework rattling, causing a fine spray to float up the sides of the sink and into his face. Ignoring how icy the temperature promises to be, Diego shoves his hands underneath, grabbing the soap and working up a strong lather. Goosebumps tingle up the length of his arms, the hairs rising to stand on end, but Diego powers on, determined to rid himself of any of the nastiness the dog decided to infect him with.

Behind him, Five silently staggers across the room towards an old chair Diego keeps shoved in the corner, the dog following obediently. Diego pays them no mind.

Plucking a stray towel hanging from one of the cupboard doors, a small amount of relief tickles through his chest as the dry skin reveals barely a mark left by the sharp canine teeth. Getting jabs is always a fuss, and Diego knows going to the Academy to see Mom about a dog bite would leave him exposed to every kind of teasing from his siblings. They already call Luther _The Werewolf_ whenever they see a full moon. 

Still offering nothing but a cold shoulder, Five plonks down heavily on the chair, letting the dog come and rest its head on his thigh. Gently, Five runs his fingers through its tangled fur.

Diego sets down the towel.

Out of the corridor and in his room, Five’s appearance goes from ragged and scruffy to downright concerning. Hidden by the dark material, blood oozes from a slice cutting through his blazer sleeve and shirt, neatly splitting the skin in a long gash. Dirt and grime cover his clothes, stained all over as if he’s been rolling on ground, and the graze on his knee is no longer just a graze, but a road rash, fresh and raw and right on the joint where it can stretch and sting with every movement.

The pitiful sight isn’t helped by a sheen of sweat Diego can now see sticking to his brother’s skin, catching stray hairs to glue them to his face and making his already light colour seem bone white. As he drags his fingers over the dog’s head, they shake. Not a lot, it’s barely noticeable unless he’s properly looking, but it’s still there, still something Diego rarely associates with his brother.

There are faint traces of blood on the dog’s head, but he doubts the canine is the source.

Once more, he asks, “What happened?”

“I tripped.” Five informs him, not putting an ounce of effort into the lie.

“You’re _bleeding_.”

“Really?” Five drawls, blinking slowly and eyes only on the dog, “Hadn’t noticed.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Diego barks, patience weening. An old anger fizzes under his sternum, frustratingly tight and reminiscent to the times he’d pick up Klaus when he was high off his ass. 

When Five doesn’t give him the curtsy of looking abashed, or even just glancing his way, that tightness snaps, and the next thing Diego knows, he’s striding towards his small looking brother with enough imposing energy to make the dog wiggle from Five’s comforting hand to shy away.

He snags Five’s injured arm, holding it out.

“ _Ow_ -”

“ _This_ is a knife wound, which mean someone attacked you. I want to know who.”

Yanking free and standing, Five tries, and fails but attempts to hide it, to square up to him. “I’m not a _kid_ , Diego, I can handle myself.”

It’s testimony to how bad Five really is when Diego’s able to hit his brother on the side of his head without his wrist being caught. “You’re only an adult in here, genius! You _look_ like a kid, and frankly, that means a lot when trying to work out who beat you up!”

“I can handle myself!” Five snarls, his lip curling. “I don’t need-”

“Then why are you here in the middle of the night when you could’ve gone to the Academy?” Diego pushes, barging into the walls as quickly as Five builds them up. “Why did you come to me? Because clearly you’re-”

“Because you were closer!” It was clearly intended to come out as a growl rather than a shout, and Five quickly attempts to downplay the exclamation by immediately dropping his pitch and shrugging tensely. “The Academy was an hour walk, yours was ten minutes. Easy math.”

Just like that, the nagging memory in the back of his skull slots into place.

“You’ve overdone your jumps.”

He’s an idiot for not figuring it out sooner, really. Five’s powers have always run on energy, they used to tease him about it constantly. Diego’s didn’t, and neither did Allison’s or Klaus’. Luther’s strength technically did diminish if he was exhausted, but for the most part they were always there as well. Ben’s became wilder unless he ate and slept regularly, but it was a pretty much an unsaid thing that they didn’t poke fun at their brother who could sprout death-happy tentacles at will (and sometimes not, they would later discover.)

Five was different, because he was full of himself and easy to annoy, and jabbing him about running out of power was just another brainless thing they all did as kids because their family’s the worst.

What Five’s limit _is_ , Diego can’t fully remember, but he does know Five must have been going pretty damn hard to look as shaky as he does now.

Startled both by Diego’s calm tone and the exposure, Five simply shrugs again, turning his head away and petting the dog when it slips its nose into his palm. It’s tail swipes across the floor, and Diego glances down at it.

He’s not great with dog breeds, mainly because Dad deemed it unworthy information and probably knew it’d only encourage them to pester Mom about getting one, so Diego can’t even hazard a guess on the type of mutt this creature is. It comes up high enough against Five not to be a small dog, though, and its ears point upwards, giving it an alert look. The fur is wiry, and beneath the grime is a fawn-like colour.

“Was it The Commission?”

“Hm?”

It’s important not to make Five feel as if he’s being talked down to if you ever want to make any headway with him, so Diego has to fight to ensure he doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to an overtired kid. “The people who attacked you, was it The Commission?”

Five’s immediate reaction is to snort, something sharp glinting in his now mildly glazed eyes. “No. Fuck no. They know not to mess with me.”

“Terrifying, but ok.” Nodding, Diego crosses his arms. “So, who _did_ manage to mess with you?”

Sighing, long and exhausted, Five runs a hand over his face, smudging a line of crimson down his nose. “Just assholes, Diego, that’s all.”

He sounds small, and if any of the others were here they’d be all over him, doting and encouraging him to bed, wanting to tuck him in like a living plaything that always made Five bristle and Diego fight back the shiver going down his spine. Maybe it’s just him, and in fact, it probably is, but the way they baby Five sometimes makes him think of Reginald and how he’d push them all into certain roles, wanted or not.

Monkey see, monkey do, he supposes.

Clicking his tongue, Diego nods towards the bed, “Sit down over there.”

Not waiting to see if Five’s following his command, Diego heads to the small cupboards above his kitchen and reaches up to drag down an old biscuit tin. The metal is dented in places, battered from many nights of aimless reaching and consequently knocking it off onto the hard floor, but still serves its purpose well enough.

Diego takes a place beside Five on the edge of the bed, his feet able to reach the floor unlike his brother who absently swings his back and forth with lackluster energy.

When he opens the tin Five immediately scoffs.

“Don’t turn your nose up at these, bro.” Diego chastises lightly, grabbing the source of Five’s amusement and opening the small cardboard box. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to find band-aids which stayed in place?”

Five watches as he takes one out, peeling off the wrapping. “Which, apparently, have cartoon monsters all over them.” He holds still as Diego covers over the scratch on his chin, adding, “Please tell me you fight crime wearing these.”

“Everywhere but the face.”

Five’s lips tilt up, despite the heavy circles under his eyes. “My respect for you has grown.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.”

“Take off your blazer and shirt,” Already reaching for the needle and thread, Diego eyes the bleeding injury, “Let me see the damage.”

In the end, he has to help Five wiggle out of the uniform, his brother hissing when the material scrapes against the slice and disturbs the scabs already formed and interwoven with the fabric. Dumping the clothes on the floor, Diego winces in sympathy, carefully pulling out some wipes to clear the area down so he can get a better look.

Although deep in the skin, the cut isn’t enough to be something seriously concerned about, and a few stitches should be enough to get it healed again. That is, of course, as long as Five takes it easy and doesn’t overdo himself, meaning that Diego’s going to have to keep a sharp eye on him to enforce that rule.

Keeping his eyes deliberately on the cut as he pretends to work out the best angle of approach, out of his peripheral vision Diego critically spies the familiar shading of bruising, deep purple marring Five’s white skin and twisting into sickly yellow around the edges. There’s some on his wrists, and along his shoulders, and although it’s hard to decipher without looking at it directly, on the centre of Five’s chest there’s a particularly big mark, one which Diego would say looks akin to someone pinning his brother in the chest using their boot.

A heated buzzing hums its way along Diego’s veins, but he forces it to stay there, not allowing it to bubble to the surface.

When the stitching starts, Diego expects Five to tense, or hiss, or snap at him like every other sibling he’s done this for, but he doesn’t. He’s eerily still, as if Diego was fixing up a mannequin instead of a human being, letting Diego get on with his work without fuss or complaint. Five doesn’t watch, his face tilted downwards at the mutt now investigating his discarded clothes, but Diego can see the quick slide of his eyes towards him every now and again.

“I didn’t take you as a dog person.” Diego starts conversationally, because the silence is too creepy to let continue.

“I found him.” Holding out his free arm to the dog, it readily accepts the offer of being petted. A pink tongue laps out, tickling the ends of his fingers.

“It’s got blood on it.” Diego notes, tying off the end of the stitching, “Is it hurt as well?”

“Bruises, and it limped for a bit, but that’s gone now. I don’t think they got very far.”

Well, isn’t that a lovely nugget of information? It pings off several swirling possibilities in Diego’s head, each spiralling into more and more vicious scenarios that result in his youngest-appearing brother looking like he’s done several rounds of Dad’s training. 

Going by the increasingly heavy way Five’s holding his head, Diego’s pretty sure he doesn’t even realise what he’s said.

“Good thing you turned up and saved the day then, bro.”

Not really listening, Five’s response is to make a noise in the back of his throat, body dipping momentarily before catching himself, yanking his frame into an upright, alert position.

It’s like watching a two-year-old fall asleep in their dinner.

Getting up, Diego snatches one of his old shirts from the pile of clean laundry he has sat in a basket, tossing it to Five and subsequently hitting him in the head.

Five nose turns up. “Do I want to know how long that’s been sat there, or-”

“It’s clean, you prick, I do my laundry.”

Pulling out what he needs next from the first-aid kit, Diego watches out of the corner of his eye as Five tugs the shirt over his head. It’s large enough on him that he doesn’t have to raise his arm too much to get it on, the sleeves hanging all the way down to his elbows and making him look gaunt.

“Stop watching me.” Five attempts to growl, but he just sounds tired.

“Can you blame me?” Grabbing some bandages, Diego raises an eyebrow at him. “If Klaus was hurt and you were fixing him up, you’d be doing the exact same thing.”

Five blinks at him, and sucks in a slow breath. “You wouldn’t come to me, then?”

“And have you gripe at me the whole time? I don’t think so. I also have acute memories of your first-aid skills. Pretty sure you were as bad as Ben.”

“Not anymore.” Five frowns, and Diego notices that he’s wobbling a little, even sat down. “Got better. Learnt all the…” He trails off, waving a hand absently as he looks for the right word, finally settling on, “Things.”

“Beautiful.”

“Fuck off.”

“Gotta look at this first.”

Kneeling on the floor in front of Five and nudging the dog out the way, Diego gets a proper look at his leg.

The area is red raw, reaching along the side of Five’s knee as if someone had taken a potato peeler and slipped off the top layer of skin. The edge is dark with scabs and grime, but for the most part the majority of the wound doesn’t look too dirty.

Five’s head bounces again, and Diego can see him battling to keep his eyes open. He still shakes minutely, the deep exhaustion really starting to take its toll.

Getting up, Diego returns to his kitchen and pulls out a pack of cereal bars, dangling one in front of Five’s face until he snatches it grumpily. Fumbling fingers open the packet as Diego squats down again.

“I need to clean this up before you can sleep.” Diego says apologetically. “It could get infected otherwise.”

“Go for it.” Five tells him, in a weaker, more distant voice. He methodically chews on the bar.

Wiping over the injury is tricky, with Five jumping every time he hits a tender spot and some pieces of dirt requiring a little bit of force to remove, not to mention the dog wandering over to investigate twice. There’s nothing lodged in the skin, thank God, so Diego rapidly moves onto applying ointment over the area, working it in as gently as he can.

It’s as he starts unwinding the bandage to cover graze and Five drops the wrapper to the ground that the dog, fed up of being out of Five’s reach for pets, decides to jump up onto the bed instead, panting happily as it lords over Diego from its new position.

“Hey!”

“Oh, shut up.” Five murmurs, scratching the dog’s ears. “He’s fine.”

“It probably has fleas.”

“I don’t think he does, actually.” Five winces as the bandage brushes against a sore patch. “I haven’t seen him itch once.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re just mad he likes me over you.”

Closing the tin, Diego stands. “Like shit I am. Whatever you did to spark such loyalty, it’s all yours.”

He has _every_ idea what Five’s done to spark such loyalty, because at the moment the _what ifs_ are going a mile a minute. Five’s obviously not going to tell him, because despite being a prideful bastard, he likes to pick his moments, leaving Diego to chew on the worrying potentials of who and when and where.

Perhaps he can call in the police station later, see if anything was reported.

Maybe the hospital as well, knowing Five.

Squinting in his direction as Diego puts the kit away, Five doesn’t seem to realise he’s tilting off to one side. “You’re not going to kick him out, are you?”

“And risk _your_ bite?” Diego turns on the tap, washing away Five’s blood from his fingers. “No thanks. Probably got rabies, knowing my luck.”

Five scoffs but doesn’t voice any complaint at the insult.

“Not to mention,” Diego adds, grabbing the towel once more and thoughtfully mulling it over, “That it’d only scratch at the doors if I take it outside. I’ve got Al on my case enough as it is without complaints of a mongrel hanging around and marking the woodwork. In more than one way.” He tosses the towel towards his dirty laundry and turns, “Still…”

Words die, and Diego lets out a heavy, amused breath, leaning back against the counter.

Finally succumbed to the will of sleep, Five’s slumped to one side, his head on Diego’s pillow and legs still dangling off the edge of the bed. He breathes slow and deep, face the picture of exhaustion with hollow looking cheeks and panda-like eyes. A steam train could probably go hammering by and Five wouldn’t so much as stir.

Quietly padding over, Diego glares at the dog as it peers up at him, whispering, “Don’t you fucking bite me.”

It cocks its head but moves out the way as Diego gather’s Five’s legs and carefully brings them up so he’s laying more comfortably, making sure not to jar the bandage as he does. Five’s laying on top of the only blankets he has, and like hell is Diego going to attempt to hold him in one arm, shoo off the dog, and settle Five beneath them without disturbing his brother, so he snatches a random jacket instead and unzips it, spreading it over Five’s shoulders and exposed arms.

The dog settles against Five’s back, so their shared body heat should be enough to keep them happy for a while.

Leaving them be, Diego returns to pulling on his vigilante gear, securing knife after knife to his belt, his chest, into the legs of his trousers, anywhere he might need a sharp edge in the heat of the moment. The mask settles nicely over his face, the years of wear not aging the usefulness in the slightest.

Opening the door to his room, Diego glances back, watching for a moment as Five slumbers undisturbed, small on his bed. The dog looks up at him.

It probably says something about Five, something that he’s never really thought about before, that the dog is notably less injured than his brother. 

Diego’s not sure what he makes of that. 

It twists something unknown, deep in the centre of his chest cavity, making his leather gloves protest as his hands tighten into fists.

What he does know, however, is that while he didn’t have any specific plans in mind for tonight, there are eyes and ears all over the city, and plenty of nooks to slink off to and lick pitiful wounds. Daylight hours are miles away, and Five’s not going to be heading anywhere for a while, so Diego should have plenty of time to go show the world what happens when you mess with a Hargreeves, and the mutt the physically youngest takes a liking to.

He flicks off the main light, leaving only a glow of a lamp gently illuminating the room, and takes his leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Diego is soft and squishy on the inside, pass it on!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


End file.
